


if you're lonely (come be lonely with me)

by Setkia



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, D&D Magic System, Demon!Crowley in a more Literal Sense, Don't Drink and Magic: An Essay by Aziraphale LaCroix, Humans Are Weird: A Thesis by the Demon Crowley, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Witch!Aziraphale, aziraphale is lonely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: So. A demon owns his soul. It’s not even 11 o’clock. He’s too hung over for this.orAziraphale LaCroix drunkenly summons a demon and sells his soul for a friend.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Original Female Character(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826527) by [CrunchyWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchyWrites/pseuds/CrunchyWrites). 



> I should not be starting another WIP for Good Omens but these boys have RUINED me, and I'm just psyched about all my ideas. My updating schedule will be spastic but yeah ... hope you'll bear with me. Title from This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory. Listen, I got a whole playlist of great songs for this ship that aren't Queen (though Queen is VERY good).

If Aziraphale had a pound for every time he swore he’d never drink again, he’d be swimming in money. As it is, this morning after is different from most in that in addition to the regular pounding in his head and pain behind his eyelids there’s a weight on his chest that resembles an elephant.

Blearily, he opens his eyes.

Yellow eyes stare back at him.

“ _Finally awake, I see_ ,” a voice hisses in his mind.

Aziraphale groans, tilting his head back. “I did drunk magic again, didn’t I?”

“ _Fraid so_ ,” says the voice in his mind. “ _Mind getting rid of the fucking salt? I’ve had to piss since three hours ago, and there’s not exactly a chamber pot for me._ ”

Well, at least he remembered the salt circle.

Aziraphale gets out of bed, letting the cool floor shock himself awake. There are runes beneath his feet, and salt a few inches away. So. Making a salt circle around his bed. That’s a new one.

He gets a good look at the entity on his bed. It’s a large serpent, black and scaly with yellow eyes.

“Er, don’t suppose you could tell me your name?”

_“I did, last night. You’ve forgotten it, haven’t you?”_

“Terribly sorry.”

 _“S’alright, you were fairly smashed.”_ The snake uncoils, leisurely taking up more of the sheets now that Aziraphale is no longer there. _“Crowley, pleasure you meet you. Sober, this time.”_

“Right. I’m er,—“

_“Ezra.”_

Thank God drunk him remembered to safeguard his name. “You’re a demon?”

_“I should hope so, else I’ve been misidentifying myself for six millennia.”_

Aziraphale nods more out of habit than understanding. “Erm. Don’t suppose I can just banish you back to Hell, can I?”

 _“Ordinarily, you could,”_ says Crowley, adjusting his body so that it’s leaning against the bed’s headboard _. “But, given the circumstances, that might be trickier than anticipated.”_

“And what are those circumstances?”

_“I own your soul.”_

“Right. Would you give me a moment?”

 _“Take your time.”_ It’s dry, and probably sarcastic, but the witch takes it as permission and slips out as discretely as he can. He trusts his circle to contain the demon, and so it’s not out of fear for his life that he does this but of politeness. Occult or not, Crowley is a guest in his home and Aziraphale is being awfully rude.

So. A demon owns his soul. It’s not even 11 o’clock. He’s too hung over for this.

Aziraphale does what he always does when he’s in over his head: he calls Anathema.

“Hullo?” she greets in that tired voice of hers.

“I need some help.”

“Hmm? What did you do now?”

“Er… do you know much about exorcisms?”

“You’re the one who does summoning and banishment, not me,” Anathema reminds him. “Someone call you with a tricky possession?”

“Not exactly. It’s complicated. Er, it’d be easier just to show you. When can you come over?”

“Give me an hour.”

Aziraphale renters his room and takes a deep breath. “Alright. Well. A friend of mine is coming over soon, so all this can be sorted.”

 _“Friend?”_ the demon repeats. _“You have friends?”_

A part of him would be offended, but to be honest, he’s not sure himself. If he’s being honest, it’s more like he has one friend and more than a dozen acquaintances. He rarely feels comfortable enough with others to call them friends and is always unsure of the position he holds in others’ lives. It feels presumptuous to refer to people as friends before they call him such, and so his social network is more of a social string.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Crowley hisses, examining his eyes carefully. _“Fascinating.”_

“So you’re a … snake demon?”

 _“In a manner of speaking,”_ Crowley says. If asked previously whether snakes could smirk, Aziraphale would have said no. He knows better now. _“So, Ezra, tell me what a goody two shoes boy like you is doing with a spell book. It’s not proper for young gentlemen to know the dark arts.”_

Ah, this is a conversation topic Aziraphale knows. “I’m a witch.”

 _“That much I gathered.”_ Crowley tilts his snake head to the side and blinks slowly. _“You haven’t answered my question.”_

“I need to clean up, and figure out how I’m going to deal with this—“

_“Oi, I still need to piss. If you don’t give me something to take a wee in soon, your sheets will be getting it.”_

Aziraphale flusters and looks around his room. It’s mostly books stacked upon books. He grabs a potted plant nearby his windowsill that is very under watered and hands it to Crowley.

The snake stares at the plant. _“You’re kidding me.”_

“I don’t suppose you—“

_“This thing is DYING, and you want me to put my demonic, other-dimensional bodily fluids inside its soil? Hasn’t the poor sod suffered enough?”_

Aziraphale grabs the pot back and places it back on the windowsill. “Erm, stay right there.”

_“Not like I have much of a choice.”_

Aziraphale comes back with a Tupperware container.

Crowley is clearly not impressed.

“It’s not like I can remove the salt circle! Anathema can come up with a better solution later, but in the short term— oh my God you’re naked!”

And suddenly Crowley is no longer a snake but a man. A very naked man.

“Turn away if you’re embarrassed.”

Aziraphale does. He covers his eyes as well, and grabs his phone, sending a quick text to Anathema asking for adult male clothes.

“Alright, I’m done,” Crowley says.

“You’re still naked, aren’t you?”

“Well it’s not like I can use my magic in the circle,” the demon points out. “Are friends normally this prudish with each other?”

Aziraphale turns around just then, without a single thought. “We are NOT friends.”

“That’s not what you said last night. Eyes up here, angel.”

Aziraphale tries to pull his gaze from the man’s body. He’s pale and lanky, with delicate fingers and red hair. There’s a snake tattoo near his ear. His eyes have remained yellow.

“This deal I made. What exactly was it?”

“One human soul for one demonic friend,” says Crowley. “I’ve never had friends before, so I’m just trying to follow your lead. I assume this means you’ve gotta be rude to each other and try to murder plants together. Not sure if I’m on-board with that whole bit. Rather fond of plants, I am.”

“But I mean, there’s no physical contract, is there?” asks the witch, desperately searching for a loophole.

“Contracts are modern. Before that there were vows. Pacts. Solemn swears.” Crowley wiggles his fingers and swings his legs. “We made one. An arrangement. Demonic words are binding.”

“But I wasn’t sober—”

“Schematics. Look, you want to send me back? Be my guest. Just know I’ve gotta take you down with me. I’m not so evil that I would end your life earlier to get my hands on your soul, but if you want to be like that, go ahead.”

Aziraphale is getting a headache, and he’s not sure if it’s from the wine or the demon.

“I need to get dressed, so …” Aziraphale makes a large sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate … something, but he’s unsure what it is he’s trying to say.

“I’m not stopping you.”

Aziraphale stares at him pointedly.

“Would it help if I went back to being a snake?” His voice sounds different when he’s in this form. Sort of English, but untraceable to a particular place in England.

“No.” Especially now that he knows the demon has a physical, humanoid form.

“Well, I offered.”

The man flips onto his back, and stares up at the ceiling. “I’m not looking, if you want to run in and get your things. Bit of a weird way to do a walk of shame, but you do you, I suppose.”

Aziraphale does run in and grab his clothes before locking himself away in his bathroom. He tries not to be too frazzled as he gets dressed, trying to talk himself down from a panic attack he’s on the precipice of.

He feels better once he’s dressed in his usual clothes, and splashes water on himself to kick-start the wake-up process.

“Things are going to be fine. Anathema is going to come over and she’ll help fix the whole thing and then you can go back to scaring away customers of the mundane kind and set the liquor cabinet on fire. Buck up Aziraphale, time to go and face the demon.”

It’s a pitiful pep talk, if it can even be called that.

The witch nods at his reflection, wipes his hands on his pants, and walks out of the bathroom as steadily as possible.

He’s collected enough of his sanity that when he draws in a breath it doesn’t feel like he’s being stabbed by a thousand swords, more like a thousand knives.

Could be worse.

He opens his bedroom door to see the demon, naked as ever, trying to dump the contents of the Tupperware out the window.

 _Could be worse,_ he reminds himself.

Crowley lets out a wince as the contents of the Tupperware hit the grass outside. “Eh, the weeds had it coming.”

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a D&D nerd, so I'm using a D&D magic system. I should've stated it before, but I'm stating it now. I have no intention of disrespecting real, practicing witches, and the like. Also, low-key decided to write Demon!Crowley as though he's the Doctor .... heh ... I'm sorry but Ten is just AMAZING, and it IS David Tenant, so I feel justified.

“You’re telling me _that’s_ a demon?”

“Oi!”

Aziraphale can hardly blame Anathema for being skeptical. She’s not the one who woke up to the snake monstrosity.

Crowley’s now dressed in Anathema’s clothes, or rather, her father’s clothes which smell faintly of mothballs. They’re too large on his lanky frame, but the redhead doesn’t seem to mind, not bothering to roll up the sleeves of the flannel. He looks … innocent. Human, even, save for those yellow eyes of his.

“How’d you end up in this mess, huh, Ezra?”

As a fellow witch, Anathema understands the importance of names. While there’s technically not much a demon can do with a first name alone, Aziraphale mixes with quite a lot of demons given he summons and banishes them for a _living_ , so it’s better to be safe rather than sorry.

“I er … may have done some drunk magic?”

Crowley snorts. “May have? Tell that to the chardonnay.”

He really wishes he had cleaned up more before Anathema had showed up. He had been so frazzled over Crowley, evidence of last night’s disaster is still strewn around his home. It could be worse though, he’s done some pretty stupid things while drunk-magicking. Summoning a demon is hardly the worst thing he’s done while intoxicated. Though selling his _soul_ , that’s … troubling.

“We have to get him out of that circle.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Crowley hisses at the Latina. “See, she gets you can’t just coop me up.”

“I mean, where else are you going to sleep? Unless you want to join him in there? Your bed doesn’t look like it could hold the two of you.”

“But I—”

“Just because _you_ don’t know how to use a bed, doesn’t mean everyone else is as clueless as you,” Anathema teases well-meaningly. “I know you mostly fall asleep with a book on your face in some ungodly uncomfortable position, but I’d like for my best friend to at least have the _option_ of using his own bed.”

“How else am I supposed to contain him though? I can’t just _move_ a salt circle!”

Anathema tilts her head, looking the demon up and down. “He doesn’t look that powerful.”

Crowley's threatening hiss is completely dismissed by Anathema.

“I could probably whip you up some sort of amulet or something. Make a minor salt circle that’s portable. Unless you want to banish him right now?”

“I _can’t_ ,” says Aziraphale and he wishes he could. Wishes he could go back in time, damn the paradoxes, and give himself a stern talking to. Just because he’s lonely doesn’t mean he has to resort to magical means to solve his problems. If anything, it’s given him _more_ problems. “I would, if I could, —”

“Way to make a demon feel wanted.”

“—but given the … situation, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Anathema _cannot_ know about the deal he accidentally struck with the demon while drunk. He’d never hear the end of it. Even if it wasn’t pathetic and embarrassing, he still wouldn’t want her to know, given that she’s likely to try to go down to Hell herself to fix the issue and as Aziraphale needs to be on relatively good terms with those Downstairs, he can’t let her ruin his reputation in the Pits.

“If you say so.” Anathema opens her phone and starts typing something. “I have to check our stocks, but I’m pretty sure I can manage something by six tonight.” She glances over at Crowley. “We should get him clothes. Like, real clothes that fit him. He looks ridiculous like that.”

“I look _fabulous_ , thank you.”

“Uh huh. Ezra, you got enough money saved up to do some shopping with the dude once I get you that portable salt circle?”

“Er, probably.” His finances are a bit weird, given that to any respectable member of Soho he appears to be the worst bookseller as he never actually sells a single book. To those interested in witchcraft and old documents, he’s a restorer of various ancient texts. To those in the community, he’s your first call when you need something summoned or banished.

It’s his literal _job_ to deal with demons, and yet here he is.

He’d laugh if it wasn’t so distressing.

“Alright, well I better get brewing. Feel free to call me if anything else happens, cool?”

“You’re a life saver, Anathema.”

“I know.” She winks, and then she’s out the door, her homemade perfume the only indication she was there.

“So … that’s your friend?”

Aziraphale turns to Crowley on his bed. He’s sitting now crossed legged, his hands on his knees with the too long sleeves covering his fingers. It’s almost adorable.

“That was Anathema, yes.”

“Anathema,” Crowley echoes. “Strange name.”

“You don’t hear me saying anything about yours,” the blond shoots back defensively.

“Didn’t mean anything bad by it. Anathema. Has a nice ring to it.” Crowley begins to play with the sleeves of the flannel, folding them. It’s so large, it seems to swallow him up. He’s wrinkling his nose in disgust, though Aziraphale doubts he’s aware of this. “So. If she’s your friend, why’d you need me?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re the one who summoned me. To be your friend. But you’ve got the Witchy Girl.”

Aziraphale has no idea how to explain that having one friend is nice, but lonely. Especially because Anathema has a very busy life outside of her witchcraft. She runs a special apothecary handed down to her through the generations, and finds time to talk to Aziraphale every now and then. He rarely calls her in for favours, given how busy her schedule is. She makes time for him as much as she can, but Aziraphale knows he’s just another item on her check-list.

It’d be nice to have a friend who only has time for him. He’s fully aware of how selfish that sounds. Maybe that’s why he summoned the demon. Make a contract with someone who _can’t_ leave him behind, or pack up and go even if he tires of the witch. It sounds like entrapment.

As stated before, Drunk Aziraphale makes very bad choices.

The witch begins to rummage through his books, searching for titles relating to demonology, summoning and rare sigils. The staggering pile he creates also includes several books on reptiles.

"Well, I'm going to keep looking. Excuse me if I don’t trust the word of a demon."

"We're still on that? I’m supposed to be your _friend_ ," Crowley says. "Plus, if you were really smart you’d look at the summoning components that resulted in me house crashing."

Normally Aziraphale _would_ , but the pieces that comprise the circle are some of the most generic things he’s ever seen. He can’t even begin to fathom which demon he _meant_ to summon, if any at all. Next time he gets his hands on alcohol, he’s hiding all his chalk and materials.

“Erm, this is a bit of an odd question, but uh … what century is it?”

Aziraphale looks up from his book on snake demons. “Excuse me?”

“What century is it?”

Aziraphale frowns. “You don’t know?”

“Listen, I hear all about what you guys get up to, but I don’t exactly … well, people don’t typically summon _me_. I’m not a summoning-type.”

Well, there goes his theory the shamelessness of Crowley is due to being an incubus.

“It’s the twenty-first century.”

“Hmm.” Crowley eyes Aziraphale. “Time _has_ moved since the Garden. Yet you dress like that?”

Aziraphale shifts from his position at his desk. “I find it comfortable.”

“Right. You should wear blue. Baby blue would look good on you. Bring out your eyes.”

Aziraphale ignores him.

The next few hours pass in more or less silence as Aziraphale flips through passages about medieval pacts, and Nagas. He’s obviously a shapeshifter of some sort, but given how Crowley keeps playing with his wenis, maybe he’s _not_ used to being in human form.

By four o’clock, he’s given up.

"I don’t understand. From what the scholars say, you don’t even exist."

Crowley hums. "Told you it’s a waste of time."

"But how can there be no trace of you? At all?"

"I’ve kept a low profile. My _magnum opus_ was completed six thousand years ago. No need to stir up more trouble after that. I’m famous. Well, _in_ famous. Will it help if I told you my old name?"

No demon is nearly this patient, or free with their information. Not unless there’s something he’s hiding. He’s nothing like the demons Aziraphale normally does business with, carrying himself differently, though he’s just enough of a bastard that he’s got no doubt that he is most certainly a demon and not just some infernal creature. The fact that he’s oddly emotional is different. It’s throwing him off. How oddly _human_ he is.

“Names hold power.”

“My old one doesn’t anymore. I’m no longer what I was. Born anew and all that shit. You think the name Lucifer holds much magical power nowadays? Nah, it’s all Satan this and Satan that.” He eyes the way Aziraphale flinches. “Don’t worry. I’m not saying it with Intent.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. What was your name?”

“Crawly.”

Aziraphale blinks.

“You’re … you’re the serpent of Eden.”

"Bingo. Do you want a gold star?"

Aziraphale is quite possibly even more nauseous than he was this morning. How did drunk him manage to get the Big Bad, Original Tempter, trapped in a salt circle? That has to take an immense amount of power. More than any witch can perform on their own.

"Yo, Ezra! I got that portable salt circle you needed.”

The witch startles, much to the demon’s amusement, before Anathema makes her presence known. She’s got a satchel over her shoulder, and nail polish. With her hair done up with several clips and the new outfit she’s adorning, she’s dressed to impress.

“How many times do I have to tell you to knock?”

“Oh, you love me.”

"Where are you going, dressed like that?”

"Got a date." She sweeps past Aziraphale and pulls a ring out of her satchel. With a careful toe, she sweeps some of the salt away creating a small hole in the circle. “C’mon demon. Got a new accessory for you. Much more your style."

Crowley stares at the ring in her hand critically. His eyes flit between her and the offered jewellery. "Not you. I want him to put it on me."

"What?"

"I don’t trust her," Crowley says, nodding at Anathema. "How do I know it’s not cursed?"

"She’s my friend!"

"Exactly."

Aziraphale's about to think of a really biting comment, one that’s sure to land harshly and make the demon think twice about being snippy to his only friend, but Anathema tosses the ring to him. "S'not a problem.”

The two of them manoeuvre around the small space of his bedroom, and then Aziraphale is standing before Crowley. Despite being an ancient demon, he hasn’t been very menacing. Aside from the quips and teasing, he’s been fairly honest insofar as the witch can tell, so he steps into the circle.

He gets a good look at the ring now. It’s silver, and designed like a serpent, as though it has wrapped itself around one’s finger and then poised to strike. It has ruby eyes, and an aura about it that clearly indicates power.

Crowley looks at the ring himself and frowns. “It’s not all that flashy.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to complain.” Even more important it is quite possibly the most obnoxious piece of jewellery Aziraphale has ever seen. “Give me your hand.”

“You’re not going to court me first?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “C’mon.”

The redhead holds out his hand. His fingers are long and thin. The ring is a bit too large for his right ring finger, but then it readjusts itself. Something flashes in the demon’s eyes when it does.

Aziraphale steps back.

"How do we know if it works?"

"Are you doubting me, Ezra?"

"No, I just—”

Anathema throws a book at Crowley. He snaps his fingers, and for a moment the book freezes in its movement but then continues its path and strikes the demon in the face.

"It works. Should keep his magic contained, prevent him from opening holes in dimensions, and if you get Tracey to come over and put up some good wards, you’re golden."

"Anathema, I could kiss you."

"But you won’t. Which reminds me, I need to get going. Play nice, boys."

With that she’s gone once again.

Crowley hums, then stretches out. His back cracks, as does his neck and a few other bones Aziraphale can’t place. He inspects the ring critically and clicks his tongue. “She’s powerful, isn’t she?”

“Specializes in Divination,” Aziraphale says. “I need to clean up this circle. Then you can … move around, I guess.”

“Wonderful. Mind closing that door for me?”

Aziraphale closes his bedroom door, unsure of why he’s following the orders of a demon.The demon’s eyes flash as he catches sight of himself in the full length mirror behind the witch’s door.

“I’m _ginger_ ,” says the demon. He sounds _delighted_. “Always wanted to be ginger. Think it suits me.” He runs his fingers through his hair, as though he’s never had it before. “Oh, it’s _soft._ Wanna touch?”

“No, I would not like to.”

“Your loss.” He turns around a bit and watches his movement in the mirror.

Aziraphale moves around him to clean up the salt circle. Eventually the sigils and runes are gone, and Crowley can move freely around Aziraphale’s bedroom. He doesn’t _try_ to stare at the demon, but it’s hard _not_ to.

He moves oddly, swaying unnaturally. He stumbles over his own feet as though he were drunk, and his hips seem to lead his movement forward. His feet cross each other with each forward step, and he leans in impossible ways. He examines himself more closely in the mirror, making no attempt to leave the bedroom itself as Aziraphale tidies up around him.

“First thing we have to get me is some glasses. With the dark bits over the eyes.”

“Huh?"

Crowley turns to Aziraphale. “My eyes? Don’t belong on a form like this. If I ever leave this apartment, I’d rather not explain my peepers.”

“Can’t you just transform them?”

Crowley rolls his unnatural eyes. “You’d think so, but She isn’t into that whole thing. It was a fight to even let me have _legs_.” Crowley frowns. “You don’t expect me to spend the rest of your life trapped inside this apartment, do you? I need clothes. And glasses. What do you call them? Oh right, sunglasses.”

“She?”

Crowley points towards the sky. “The Big One?”

“God?”

“Yeah, Her. Mother Dearest.” He says it with a sneer. “Anyway, I haven’t been up here since, gosh, probably since Adam was around. He’s dead now, yeah? I’m pretty sure that was part of the punishment. That you have to die. You guys nearly had immortality, but then She got prissy about the fruit. Which, wasn’t an apple by the way, but a good guess on your part. Was a pear. Never liked pears."

"I like pears."

Why did he say that?

"Hmm. To each their own." Crowley frowns. "Is this really what your language is like? I don’t like it. It’s very troublesome." He moves past him to Aziraphale closet and tosses a few things out and tsks. “There’s just beige and cream and _tartan_. Oh! Jackpot! _”_ He pulls out a white shirt and sheds his flannel before slipping into the new shirt. He slips back into the flannel, leaving the buttons undone as he messes with his hair once more. “There we go. Marginally better. You guys are so stingy about skin.” He pinches at his face, sticks out his tongue and runs a finger over his teeth. "You’ve got weird bodies."

"Erm…"

Crowley smacks his lips together. "Oh, I don’t like that sound. That’s a dreadful sound." He smacks his lips together again and wrinkles his nose. "Alright, I’ve accepted it. Got any more alcohol?"

Aziraphale starts. "Oh my! You must be starving!"

"Not really. Can’t eat. Was part of the whole deal, ya know. Prefer liquids anyway. So, got any rum? Vodka? You guys figured out so many ways to fuck yourselves up. It’s commendable, really. Oh, was that rude? Are friends supposed to be rude to each other?"

"How long are you here for?"

"Till I take your soul, so I guess when you die. Should I not mention how short your life is? Do humans get upset when reminded of their mortality? You’d think they’d get used to it by now."

Aziraphale needs to sit down. Numbly he takes a seat on his bed.

Crowley continues to examine himself in the mirror a few times before noticing Aziraphale's seated position and he joins him.

"Why are we sitting?”

“This has been a very long day for me.”

“All days are the same length, if I remember this right. Well, no. They’re not. But that’s because time is weird, and not real.”

“Right,” Aziraphale says, feeling like he’s not quite in his own body.

“Would now be a bad time to say I’m in the mood for alcohol?”

 _No_ , Aziraphale thinks to himself. _Alcohol sounds good right about now. Extraordinary amounts of alcohol._


End file.
